


The Miraculous Musketeers

by coppersunshine



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Adrien is very clueless, Basically the most convoluted identity bullshit I could come up with in a non-canon setting, Bisexual Adrien Agreste, Blood and Violence, Established Alya/Nino, F/M, Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy, Identity Shenanagins, Marinette and Alya are pretending to be dudes so they can be Musketeers, Nino knows, Three Musketeers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppersunshine/pseuds/coppersunshine
Summary: A tale of swashbuckling, mistaken identities, romance, and the fight of good against evil: Marinette and Alya are members of the King's Musketeers, disguising themselves as men with Nino's help, the three forming an unstoppable team. When country boy Adrien comes to Paris seeking to join the Musketeers, he quickly becomes one of their number and the four of them are embroiled in political intrigue and the hunt for Hawkmoth, a new villain terrorizing the innocent citizens of Paris. As Adrien and 'Marin' grow closer, how can they handle their mutual attraction with all the lies that separate them?
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Adrien

**Author's Note:**

> BASICALLY this is gonna be a whole lot of identity shenanigans and Marinette and Adrien being big dumb fools like only they can be, with some action-y stuff thrown in because what's gayer than a sword fight? It's also WILDLY historically inaccurate which was an executive decision for reasons of 1) I'm too lazy to do proper research and 2) It is literally impossible to write Nino without using modern slang and I ain't doing my boy dirty like that.

Adrien’s heart leapt as he guided his horse past the small inn which marked the furthest he had ever traveled from the farm in the ten years since he had been sent there. His memories of the world beyond were dim, but now he was on his way to Paris, to rejoin his father and find adventure beyond the simple life he had lived with his mother’s family. 

He frowned at that thought. After his mother died, Adrien’s father had sent him away, with visits few and far between. He knew so little of his father, except that he was a highly esteemed tailor, but he was sure they would get along better in Paris than in the past. After all, his father, Gabriel Agreste, had sent for him, with a request his uncle pen a letter of introduction to the King’s Musketeers and a terse note that it was time for Adrien to start making something of himself. It had to mean something. His father must have taken some interest, at least, to hear of Adrien’s talent with a blade. Learning swordplay from his uncle had been Adrien’s favorite pastime on the farm, and his uncle, who had been a Musketeer himself long ago, enjoyed teaching him.

Adrien’s horse nickered, and he patted her absentmindedly, looking up when he heard the clatter of hooves and the unmistakable click of a gun being leveled at his face. Five men on horseback were facing him, weapons drawn and ready. Adrien raised his hands slowly, stopping himself from instinctively drawing his sword like he wanted too. Five men was too many to fight, especially since they’d gotten the drop on him. _Stupid_ , he chastised himself. He should have been watching the road. 

“Good day,” said Adrien, hesitantly. 

“Good for me,” smirked one of the bandits. He had a hood drawn low and a scarf over much of his face; Adrien could only just make out the man’s eyes. “Off your horse now.”

Adrien carefully dismounted, and the man-the leader, evidently--nodded at one of the other bandits who slid off his own horse and walked over to Adrien and began rifling through Adrien’s pockets, taking the small bag of coins he carried. The letter of introduction in Adrien’s shirt crinkled and he winced, the ruffian raising his eyebrows before reaching for it. “What’s this?”

“It’s..it’s nothing! Just a letter!” 

“Jus’ a letter, huh?” 

“Yes! Just a boring, ordinary, totally worthless letter.” Adrien sighed. Nobody would be convinced by that. He’d never been a good liar. 

“Well,” chuckled the man, “Guess you won’t mind if I keep it then.

“It’s, uh, it’s, uh, sentimental,” Adrien tried, “Only valuable to me.”

The man looked at him in disgust, then swung up on his horse. “You’re an awful liar. You should work on that. Be glad I’m leavin you your horse. Nag’s not worth the feed to keep her.” With that, he galloped off, leaving Adrien dejected. He went to pat his horse on the nose. 

“It’s okay, girl, you’re a fine horse. He wouldn’t know a good horse if it kicked him.” Adrien sighed, before climbing back into the saddle and setting off to Paris again. There was nothing else to do.   
  


Adrien arrived in Paris to be immediately affronted by assault to his senses and an overwhelming sense of deja-vu. He laughed, giddy at the scene around him, the people and buildings and the sense that real adventure was only starting. 

After a few hours of wandering lost Adrien managed to find his way to his father’s shop, hitching his horse outside and gazing with wonder at the rich fabrics and fine costumes displayed in the shop window. He entered, and a bored shopboy greeted him automatically. 

“Welcome to Gabriel’s, how can I help you?”

“I am seeking my father, Gabriel Agreste.”

The shopboy blinked, then disappeared into the back. Gabriel emerged a moment later. “You should be at the garrison.”

“I was accosted on the road. The letter was taken.” Adrien hung his head. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Your carelessness is no concern of mine. You may present your concerns to Commander Fu, though I sincerely doubt he would accept as a Musketeer a man foolish enough to lose such a valuable document. Do not come here again. Especially,” he spared a glance for Adrien’s soiled travel garb, “with such untidy dress.” Gabriel swept into the back room, and the shopboy scurried out, glancing at Adrien apologetically. 

Adrien slumped, leaving the shop dejectedly, then letting the door slam in a sudden burst of anger. Gabriel had _sent_ for him, hadn’t he? Everyone knew the road to Paris was dangerous. He hurried his horse through the crowded streets, ignoring the glares and shouts sent in his direction as he sought out the Musketeer’s barracks. 

Without too much trouble he found them and was shown to Commander Fu’s office. Adrien knocked on the door, and a voice directed him to enter. 

“Good day, Commander Fu, my name is Adrien Agreste.”

“Good day, please, sit down. Why are you here?”

“I have come seeking to join the Musketeers, sir. I had a letter of introduction, sir, but it was taken from me on the road.”

Fu made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, but I cannot do anything without a letter of introduction.”

“Please, it was from my uncle, the Musketeer Plagg.”

“Plagg, huh? He was a fine Musketeer, if given to some foolishness. Unfortunately, without that letter I have no way of knowing the accuracy of your story, or anything of your qualifications. Now--”

“I will fight your best Musketeer.”

Fu continued, ignoring the interruption. “--if you can find that letter, or get a--”

“I will fight your two best Musketeers!”

“--new letter from your Uncle, then we can--”

Adrien stood, desperate, his chair clattering on the floor behind him. “I will fight your three best Musketeers! If I best them, let me stay. If I fail, I will leave and not bother you again.”

“My three best Musketeers? You have great faith in your abilities, son.”

“My uncle trained me well.”

“Yes, I suppose he would have.” The commander smiled. “Very well. Come back at five o’clock, and you will have your fight.” 

“Thank you, sir. Thank you!”

Adrien left, politely closing the door behind him. Fu walked to the window, watching Adrien walk across the courtyard. The boy pumped a fist into the air, and then stopped to look and make sure nobody had seen him. Fu smiled; even if the boy proved to be a shabby swordsman, it would be a good diversion from his paperwork. 

Adrien left the barracks and chose a direction at random; he had nearly half a day before 5 o’clock, plenty of time to find lodging and prepare himself for what promised to be the fight of his life. 

He sighed and slumped his head. He had been so elated at being given a chance, any chance that he’d forgotten what he’d promised. What on earth had he been thinking, promising to fight the three best Musketeers? Adrien may have been the best swordsman in his village, better even than his uncle, but these were _Musketeers_ , who lived and died by the sword and musket, and not just any Musketeers, but the best of them. Plagg had drilled him in fighting multiple opponents, but on the farm there had been no opportunity to test his skill against actual swordsmen. 

He had to do it though. Adrien couldn’t go back to the farm. He had to win, to prove to his Father he was capable. No matter the odds, Adrien would win, he promised himself. He _must._

The smell of roasting meat roused Adrien from his thoughts; he looked up to see a street market, and his stomach helpfully reminded him of just how long it had been since his last meal. Adrien paid for some questionable and over-priced meat-on-a-stick, thanking the vendor and thanking his good sense to keep some coin in his boot safe from highway robbers; he was just about to take a bite when a woman tripped, falling directly in his path. He caught her instinctively, the stick-meat landing on the ground in a patch of something dubious. Adrien sighed inwardly, then addressed the woman, carefully lifting her to standing. 

“Are you injured, madam?”

“No, and good thing, too! Look, my dress ripped, and it’s an Agreste original! My benefactor will _not_ be pleased.” She frowned, distaste distorting her pretty features. 

“You know Gabriel Agreste?” asked Adrien, overeager. He grimaced at the desperate puppyishness of his tone as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Of course,” said the woman, “Anyone with any taste knows Gabriel. He _is_ the best designer in Paris after all. Only a peasant wouldn’t know of him. _I,_ however, am personally acquainted with him. My benefactor insists I wear the best.”

“I see. May I inquire your name?” As he spoke, Adrien could feel someone watching him; he scanned the crowd, locking eyes with a striking young man glaring at him from across the square. Adrien frowned. What interest could the man have in him?

He ripped his gaze away, turning back to the woman to catch her name. 

“I’m Chloe Bourgeois. And--” the woman actually bat her eyes “--what is the name of my savoir?”

“Adrien, at your service. May I ask a favor of you, Chloe?”

She smirked coquettishly. “You may.”

“I’m new in Paris, and unfamiliar with the city. Do you know a place I might find reputable lodging for the night? I’m afraid I don’t have much coin; I was robbed on the road.”

“Oh, I can definitely help with that. And don’t worry about the money, I’ll pay for everything. My benefactor keeps me well-supplied.” She clung to his arm, dragging him down the street. 

Adrien frowned. “I cannot allow that.”

“Nonsense, just let…”

He cut her off. “I thank you for the generous offer, Chloe, but I will not be indebted to anyone, even someone as fair as you.” 

She pouted. “Fine, if you want to lodge in some pest-infested hole.”

“As long as it’s not the kind of hole that will slit my throat overnight, I will fare well enough.” 

“What _ever_. Come on, then.”

They managed to find Adrien lodging in a dodgy boarding house; it might not have been the cleanest, but the lady running it seemed nice enough. Chloe grumbled throughout the entire process, yet somehow had known exactly where to take Adrien, leading him unerringly and sniffing about ‘peasants’ the entire way. Adrien supposed that he wasn’t included in that distinction, since she was willing to help him, but then, his father was Gabriel Agreste, even if she didn’t know that. At any rate, he needed friends here in Paris--or at least allies--and someone who knew Paris as intimately as Chloe seemed would be a good person to have around, even if she wasn’t entirely pleasant. 

A clock rang as they were leaving the boarding house: half past four. Adrien started. 

“How far are we from the garrison of the King’s Musketeers?”

“Why?” drawled Chloe, “whatever could you want with those dirty men?”

“I have an appointment to keep there.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you a fighting man?” she purred. 

Adrien tugged his hand on the back of his neck. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, then you should know that the _best_ regiment is the Cardinal’s guards. I’m sure if we talked to my benefactor he’d be able to get you enlisted. Much better than messing around with those low-class Musketeers.”

“Thank you for the offer, but my uncle was a Musketeer, and I am determined to be one as well. Regardless, I cannot miss my appointment; it would besmirch my honor.” 

Chloe huffed dramatically. “Fine.” She raised a hand to a carriage lumbering along the street. “Hey! You! Get over here!”

The carriage stopped, and she marched toward it, Adrien still hesitating. “Well, are you going to help me in or not?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re not still caught up on money, are you? It’s a cheap carriage ride. And you’re going my way anyway. Just get in, you idiot.”

Adrien made up his mind, elegantly helping Chloe into the carriage before climbing in himself. 

Adrien didn’t say much on the ride, just listened to Chloe’s chattering and nodded at the appropriate moments. 

They reached the garrison just as the bells began to ring five o’clock. 

Adrien leapt out of the carriage, calling his thanks over his shoulder as he ran into the yard. 

He skid to a stop as he met the familiar glare of the man he had seen in the market earlier. The man stood in the center of the training yard, flanked on either side by his comrades. “You’re late,” he scowled, voice surprisingly boyish, mismatching his steely gaze. Closer to the man than before, Adrien could see the bright blue eyes of the glare that puzzled and captivated them. 

“My apologies,” said Adrien. “I was seeking lodging for the evening and lost the time.”

“No sweat, man, you’re here,” drawled the taller of the three. “Now let’s get on with this, yeah?”

The other rolled his eyes. “We have to wait for the Commander, Nino.”

“I got plans today, Alain, you know that!”

The blue-eyed beauty snorted. “More like plans _with_ Alain,” he muttered under his breath. 

“ _Marin!_ ” hissed Alain, looking pointedly at Adrien. 

“Please,” said Marin, raising his voice, “We all know he’ll be crawling back to whatever tragic village he came from with dawn tomorrow.”

“Wow, harsh, Marin,” said Nino. “You don’t know, he could be good,” though his voice made clear his skepticism. 

“Good enough to best all three of us together, on his own?” Marin sniffed. “Unlikely.”

“Well,” said Commander Fu, startling all four of them, “Shall we get started?”

Marin drew his rapier. “With pleasure.”

Alain and Nino drew theirs as well, adjusting smoothly from a casual posture to a ready fighting stance. “I almost feel sorry for him,” said Alain. 

Marin only grinned, eyes locked with Adrien’s. He could feel his heart thump, then breathed, long, slow breaths like his Uncle had taught him, and drew his blade. 

Adrien’s eyes locked onto Marin’s hypnotic own; he could see Nino moving towards him in his peripherals, and moved his own sword just in time to parry. He stared at Marin a moment longer before turning his attention to Nino fully and starting the fight in earnest. 

They tested him first, one at a time, first Nino, then Alain, and at last Marin, with an anger behind him Adrien couldn’t parse. He held his ground, barely, against the strange righteous force of Marin, until the man smiled and stepped back. It wasn’t the smile itself that struck Adrien as so strange, but the sincerity of it, that a man who seemed at one moment to hate him would be pleased with him the next. Adrien didn’t have time to make sense of it, though, for in the next moment Alain was against him and he couldn’t afford distraction. 

They kept up that pattern for a while, trading off the fight against him until Adrien was panting and covered in sweat, desperate for a moment to just breathe. It was then they fell upon him all together, the three of them at him in a fury of steel. He held them for barely a moment, pulling on the very last of his strength to disarm Marin, sending the blade flying across the courtyard in an elegant arc, before Adrien fell, exhausted, surrendering to the twin blades of Nino and Alain, his own clattering to the ground, dropped by a hand too tired to grip it any longer. 

A deep pit opened in his stomach, a gaping emptiness which addressed his realization that he had failed. Failed himself, failed his father, and would soon enough be back at the farm and resigned to a life of failure. 

“Whoa, that was totally epic, dude,” said Nino. 

“Pretty sweet,” agreed Alain, offering Adrien a hand to pull him up. 

He ignored it, confused. “I failed.”

Alain laughed. “Well, yeah. I didn’t think you’d last a minute, but you did good.”

“Very impressive,” said Commander Fu, walking across the courtyard. “It has been many years since Marin was last disarmed.” He handed Marin his blade. “To hold so long against these three shows your skill.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said Adrien. “It was luck let me disarm him. I will be a nuisance to you no longer.” He stood up, shakily, and carefully retrieved his sword from the ground. 

“I would be pleased to accept you into the Musketeers, Adrien. You will have to impress the King to earn your commission, of course, but I think that will not take long.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, and he grinned, aching body forgotten. “I will not disappoint you, Commander!”

Marin frowned. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Commander? I-”

“Of course,” said Fu, with finality. “He shows great potential.”

Marin looked like he was about to object, then reconsidered and inclined his head. “Yes, Commander.”

“Hey, alright!” said Nino, extending his hand. “Welcome to the team, dude!”

Adrien clasped his hand with Nino’s. “Thank you, Nino.”

“Not bad, newbie,” said Alain. “You certainly impressed Commander Fu!”

Marin waited until the Commander had returned to his office, then turned to Adrien, anger plain on his face. “If you think I’m going to tolerate a spy for the Cardinal among our Musketeers you are sorely mistaken.”

Adrien blinked. “What?”

What’s going on, Marin?” asked Alain. 

“I saw him with Chloe earlier,” said Marin.

Nino grimaced. “Ugh, Chloe. Hanging with the Cardinal’s pet does not look good, dude.”

“I-I didn’t know, truly. I only arrived in the city this morning. I met Chloe in the market and she was helping me find lodging. Believe me, Marin, I know only little of Paris politics, but I have wanted to be one of the King’s Musketeers ever since my uncle told me stories as a child of his time among them, and I would never betray that.”

Marin pursed his lips a moment, then nodded. “You seem sincere. I will take your word.” He smiled, blue eyes alight. “Welcome to the Musketeers, Adrien.” 


	2. Marinette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette has a freak-out over Adrien and shows him the ropes.

Marinette sighed and grabbed her belongings. “Ready Alya?”

“Yeah, let’s go, girl!”

“Got another date with Nino tonight?”

Alya smiled, quirking her eyebrows. “Romantic stroll this time, too. I just wish I could wear a dress!”

“You know, I don’t miss them at all. I mean, I love how pretty dresses are, but they’re so impractical. I want to run and jump and fight!” 

“You can run and jump and fight in dresses, Marinette.” 

“Sure, but then the great big skirts get in your way and you trip all over them! I’m too clumsy for dresses, Alya.”

Alya laughed. “You’re not wrong, girl. I swear you could trip on a cloud! But I love feeling floofy and free in a dress, no pants chafing at my legs. And it’s not so much that I mind pants as that I wish I had the option! But you know Nino and me can never be public as we are. What if I wore a dress with him and someone recognized me? 

Marinette sighed, “And your family’s not even in the city. Every time I go home I worry the whole time that someone will see me who also knows Marin and catch on. It’s lucky the Musketeers have little business in my family’s corner of Paris! I can’t imagine what my parents would say if they knew I was a Musketeer.” 

Alya grinned, swooning with a hand draped dramatically on her forehead. “Oh the life of a fighting woman!” 

Marinette giggled. “Better than that of a fighting man! At least we don’t have to pay someone to do our laundry ‘cause we’re too useless to learn how.” 

“Amen!” said Alya. “Though I feel sorry for whatever poor girl has to wash Nino’s dirty socks.” Her voice turned serious. “For real though, Marinette, I’m glad I have you two with me. I couldn’t do this alone, girl.”

They walked out of the barracks and onto the street and Marinette nudged Alya. “Quiet, Alya. What if someone hears you?”

“Then they’ve heard you calling me Alya and we’re already screwed!”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “ _ I  _ know how to be quiet. You talk really loud,  _ Alain _ .”

A voice called from behind them. “Marin!”

The girls turned to see Adrien running to catch up with them. “Sorry for stopping you. I just...I really wanted to thank you, Marin.”

Marinette blinked. “For what?”

“For believing me, and giving me a chance. I know you have no reason to trust me, and I just--” he blushed-- “really appreciate you having faith in me. I promise I won’t betray that.”

“I-I’m glad. I’m sorry I was so mistrusting before. I--”

Thunder cracked loudly, interrupting her, and rain began pouring down on the Musketeers. Marinette sighed. “The one day I leave my cloak at home!”

“Here,” said Adrien, unbuttoning his, “Take mine. It’s old, but it still sheds rain well enough.” He placed it in her arms and turned to leave. “See you two tomorrow!”

Marinette gaped, staring after him. Alya grinned. “Oooh, girl, I know that look.”

“I--Alya, nobody does that! Not when I’m dressed like this. Why...I…?”

“Okay, first step is to actually put his cloak on and stop getting soaked, okay?” Alya gently tugged the garment out of Marinette’s arms and draped it around her shoulders. “Let’s get home now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Alya laughed. “Girl, you got it bad.” 

  
  
  


Alya poked idly at the fire in their small room while Marinette rambled. “Oh my goodness, Alya, what do I do? Do I like him? I like him, right? I mean, he was so nice to me, after I was so mean to him! Oh god, ALYA, what if he hates me! I’m gonna have to be nice to him, so nice. Should I bring him some cookies? Everybody likes cookies, right? Oh, but he doesn’t know that I’m _ me _ , I mean, he knows me, but he knows Marin-me, not Marinette-me, he thinks I’m a guy and is just being nice because he’s so super nice and--”

“Girl,” Alya interrupted, “Breathe, okay?”

Marinette nodded, sucking in a huge breath of air.

“Okay, now what you’re gonna do is  _ not freak out about this _ , okay? Adrien’s sweet, but maybe take some time to get to know the guy before you completely freak out?”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re right! I’m freaking out. It’s fine, I can just talk to him and get to know him better.” She froze, panicked. “Oh god, Alya, how do I  _ talk _ to him.” 

Alya laughed. “How do you talk to anybody, silly? You’re Marin, the great Musketeer, and he’s some country kid with no connections. You probably talk to more people in a week than live in his village!” 

“Yeah but they’re not  _ him _ . He disarmed me, Alya! Do you know how long it’s been since anyone disarmed me? He’s  _ good _ , and kind, and pretty, and--”

The door knocked. Marinette jumped. 

Alya opened the door, letting Nino in. 

“Hey Marinette, what’s up?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Marinette is currently freaking because Adrien was nice to her and now she’s wildly in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him!” screeched Marinette. “Right?”

“If you need to stay here and crisis control, Alya, we can reschedule.” Nino laughed. 

“No, don’t reschedule!” said Marinette. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine, just gotta work some stuff out. Maybe I’ll practice a little, or go running or something. I’ll be fine.” 

“Alright, fine,” said Alya. “But remember to eat, and get to bed early. We’ve got that parade thing tomorrow. You better be in bed when I get home, okay?” 

“So what, I have to go to bed early but you don’t?”

“I’m just saying girl, you are a terror in the morning and if you aren’t up in time I  _ will  _ leave you. And I doubt you wanna be late for the King’s parade.” 

Marinette pouted. “Fine.” 

“Okay, see ya, girl!” Alya closed the door behind her, leaving Marinette alone to her thoughts. 

Marinette was truly happy for Alya and Nino. They were good for each other, and Nino was so understanding of the position her and Alya were in. It was extraordinary that Alya had found Nino at all, that it worked out and he was good enough to let them keep being Musketeers. He didn't even care that Alya was a better marksman than him, and in Marinette's experience men  _ always  _ cared about stuff like that. And Marinette  _ was  _ happy for them, but she couldn't help envying them. Alya had been so lucky, and the odds that Marinette would be anywhere near as fortunate were very slim indeed. And then Adrien had to go and be so good and sweet, even after she'd been mean to him and well--Marinette flushed, thinking of his earnest helpfulness. She was going to be utterly useless if she couldn't get that boy out of her head. Marinette unsheathed her blade and began to practice, working the drills Tikki had taught her up and down the small room she shared with Alya until she was dripping with sweat and too exhausted to continue. 

As Marinette readied herself for bed, she resolved that Adrien would  _ not  _ be a distraction. Marinette had far too much on her plate to worry about ‘some country kid’. Even if he was nice. 

Really, adorably, nice. 

  
  
  


It never mattered how early Marinette retired to bed: mornings were a torment. It was a fact of her existence that she accepted with only the greatest begrudging. This morning began, like most of hers did, with Alya roughly shaking her. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

Marinette moaned. “Noooo, Alya, ten more minutes.”

“Uh-uh, don't try that, we've gotta be to the garrison bright and early.”

“Five minutes?”

“You have ten seconds to get up before I dump the water pitcher on your head.”

Marinette bolted upright. “I'm up, I'm up!” 

Alya laughed. “It's like training a cat! Now get dressed and eat, we've only got a half hour before we have to leave.”

Marinette sniffed the air appreciatively “Bagels? Why didn't you say so sooner!? Alya, you're an angel.” 

“You know it, girl. Now scoot!” 

They made it on time, if only just. Commander Fu gave his usual talk about what was expected of them, their vital importance to the king, blah blah blah. Marinette had heard it a thousand times and zoned out almost as soon as he started speaking. Commander Fu was a brilliant tactician, but she wished he'd vary his rallying talks a little more. Even if they were just providing escort for a parade. 

Parades were always fun, even if working them was tedious. So many decorations, only the best-worst street food, and lavish costumes to admire. It was a time when the people of Paris really came out and together and Marinette loved it. She loved her city--even the dodgy street sausages. Of course, so many people thronged on the streets meant a field day for pickpockets and hustlers, and it made guarding the king a right--”

“Marin!” said Commander Fu sharply. 

Marinette's eyes widened. “Sir!”

Fu raised an eyebrow at her. “Now that I have your attention...You will partner with Adrien, perimeter patrol. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious and show Adrien the ropes. Understood?”

“Yes, Commander Fu.”

“Very good. Now--” Fu began giving out the other assignments and Marinette zoned out again. She was partnered with Adrien! That was good, right? Or bad. Maybe it was bad. She couldn't afford to be distracted by him on the job. But she'd get to talk to him more! She groaned. Maybe--

“Hey Marin!” said Adrien. “Guess I lucked out in a partner, huh?”

Marinette blinked. “Uh...yes. Yes! Very ducky! I mean lucky!” Marinette sighed, pulling a strong breath in and out to steady herself. “C'mon, let's get going.”

“So, how do we tackle this? Stick together or split up? What's standard protocol?” babbled Adrien, “There's so many people in Paris, I don't know how we can possibly watch them all. What's the most exciting thing that's happened to you? You must have so many exciting stories, being a Musketeer. I've wanted to be a Musketeer since I was about three when I went to live with my Uncle and he told me all his stories. It just always seemed so romantic!” 

Marinette raised an eyebrow and looked sidelong at Adrien. “You are way dorkier than I expected.” Adrien's face fell and she hastened to add “That's not bad! It's cute--I mean, I mean, it's...endearing?” Marinette groaned into her hands. “What I mean is, you're still innocent. Being a Musketeer can be cool but there's a lot of bad parts too. I've seen good men die, and a lot of it is just really incredibly boring. Like parades.”

“I never expected to be a Musketeer,” she continued. “Things just fell that way. I guess you could say I was called to it but that sounds way fancier than what actually happened, which is that I had a very kind and wise fencing instructor who encouraged me to it.”

“Do you not enjoy being a Musketeer, then?”

Marinette shook her head. “Becoming a Musketeer is the single best thing that ever happened to me. It's just...it's not all swashbuckling. I'd be happier if it was. And less boring parade detail. We'll be lucky if we nab a pickpocket.”

They reached the beginning of the parade route; the crowd was already gathering, though still sparse. 

Marinette scanned the street. “See the butcher shop over there?”

Adrien nodded. 

“Okay, that's our home base. If you get lost from me or something happens or whatever, meet there. We'll walk up and down the street through the crowd. Look for anything weird. Firearms of any kind, people concealing weapons, basically anything suspicious. On the off chance you do spot something, find me before you do anything else, ok? You don't have to stay right by me but try not to get too far away, ok?”

Adrien nodded. “Straightforward enough.”

Marinette shrugged. "Let's go protect France."

  
  


Standing in the parade crowd scanning for suspicious activity was painfully dull. She knew it was important, but in the dozens of parades she’d been on duty for nothing had ever happened. Who would be dumb enough to make a attempt at the king’s life in a crowded street policed by both the Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guards? Nobody could hope to escape in such a situation. So far the most interesting thing to happen while Marinette was on parade detail was when she had to stop Nino from attacking one of the Cardinal’s Guards who’d said something particularly rude about Nino’s mother, and frankly the man would have deserved it. Usually she got a better position, one where she could at least see the parade, but today stuffed into the thick crowds she could barely glimpse the tall plumes on the helmets of the royal guard. 

She turned to look where Adrien had last been positioned, and frowned. He wasn't there. 

She scanned the crowd and caught a glimpse of an unruly blonde mop of hair racing through the crowd of people, chasing...someone. 

Marinette started running. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characterizing Marinette for this story has been tricky. I want her to be still the same giggly, tongue-tied Marinette, but Marin is her Ladybug in this universe--as Marin she holds a position where she has to be strong and confident and protect people, and so her interactions with Adrien are colored as such despite her inevitable internal freak-outs :)


	3. Adrien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien's first day as a Musketeer is more eventful than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I bumped the rating because I'm not sure what I was thinking with a General rating in the first place. This chapter has some violence and death of minor OC characters. I guess I...forgot my plot covers some kind of heavy Musketeer typical violence because LBR I'm mostly here for the romantic nonsense but this chapter is where things start really firing up for the main story. I will absolutely not be killing or injuring any canon characters, they're all safe from anything except FEELINGS.

Adrien ran, arms swinging, legs pounding against the cobblestones. 

He'd only caught a glimpse inside the man's heavy cloak--an oddity itself on such a hot, humid summer day--but a glimpse had been enough to see the munitions carried within.

The man had noticed him looking, and started weaving through the crowd, Adrien following until the two were at an all-out run, crashing between the people of Paris who had gathered for the parade. At first Adrien offered apologies but soon his lungs were burning and he gave courtesy up in favor of breathing. 

He was disobeying orders, supposed to report to Marin--but if he'd gone to find Marin who knows where the man would have gone. In the crowded twisting streets he'd be as good as lost as soon as Adrien took his eyes off him. He'd have to trust that Marin or one of the other Musketeers would figure out what was going on. If the man was armed to assassinate the King, Adrien's letting him away would be unforgivable. 

He was close to the man now, so close Adrien could almost reach out and grab the billowing cloak. He forced his burning legs to move faster, ready to tackle the assassin when a odd cobblestone caught against Adrien's boot and he tripped, falling face-first onto the street. Adrien rushed to his feet and looked around frantically but the man had disappeared into the crowd. 

He craned his neck, peering over shoulders and looking for something to stand on. He was nearly ready to admit defeat and go find a proper Musketeer--someone who wouldn't have made such a foolish mistake as tripping on a cobblestone--when a hand seized his, dragging him headlong through the crowd. 

"Marin?"

"He was headed for the far end of the square. I'm going to go through the alley and cut him off. Got it?"

A vague mumble was all Adrien could manage in response before Marin's strong hands were shoving Adrien forward into the crowd. He stumbled, but caught his balance this time, surging forward in the direction Marin had pointed him. 

The crowd was even thicker here, if that was possible, and he had to fight through irate Parisians. Adrien was maybe 50 paces from the edge of the square when he caught sight of the caped man again, standing half-hidden behind the corner of a building. Trumpets sounded, heralding the arrival of the King's carriage, and Adrien watched the assassin draw a pistol from under his cape. Panicked, he surged forward, putting all his remaining strength into pounding across the cobblestones. The man was sweating, fear in his eyes, and glanced frantically between Adrien and Marin who was racing up the alley behind him. The man straightened his arm, aiming for the King’s carriage and Adrien leapt, wrapping his arms around the man and pushing him to the ground. 

The gun fired, and Adrien flinched. Someone shrieked, and then the crowd was screaming and running but Adrien kept his grip on the struggling man. Nothing else mattered but making sure he didn’t escape. 

“I got his pistol from him,” said Marin. “Help me tie him up.” 

Adrien looked up, dazed. “What happened? 

“You may have saved the King’s life. C’mon, help me tie up this guy.”

The man was babbling now, a constant stream of “Oh god, please god oh no what did I do I failed them they’re doomed my baby my poor baby oh god,” shaking in terror. 

They secured his hands together, and Marin looked at Adrien approvingly. “You did good. The bullet went wild, but nobody got hurt. Unless anybody got injured in the crowd going wild but the King is safe.” 

Adrien nodded, wide-eyed. 

Marin grinned. “Hey, you got your first Musketeer story. And you’ll get your commission for sure after that. Which means an actual paycheck, however meagre. Congratulations, Adrien.” 

“Thank you, Marin,” Adrien smiled shakily, “For everything.” 

Marin nodded in acknowledgement. “Right, now we need to get any information out of this sorry lug we can.” He looked down at the sobbing man. “He’s not a professional, that’s for sure.” 

The man was choking on his sobs, tears pouring down his face. “Please, please don’t kill me, I had to!” 

“Why is that?” asked Marin. 

“He was going to kill my family! Hurt my babe, my sweet sweet girl unless I did it, he gave me the guns it was him I didn’t want to I swear! Please, please, my poor family, I have nothing but them.”

Marin frowned, “Who was going to kill your family? I need a name.” 

A shot rang out, the man collapsing onto the street and blood blossoming from his chest. A red guard stood at the entrance to the alley, pistol raised.  
Marin whipped around, the expression on his face fierce and furious enough that the guard actually faltered in his footsteps, stalled in his tracks by the sheer intensity of Marin’s gaze. 

“Are you a complete and utter fool? Under what ignorant, ill-conceived, moronic intent--” Marin stormed over to the guard, shoving him against the brick wall of the alley in a chokehold that made Adrien flush for reasons he was  _ not  _ thinking about, not yet, because there was a man choking in his arms, blood in his every breath. Adrien pressed on the wound as best he could, but it was clearly of no use--the wound was brutal and fatal. The man gasped, desperate, pulling Adrien close to whisper a single word with his final breath. 

“H-hawkmoth,” he wheezed, before succumbing to the fluid in his lungs and passing on to whatever came after death. Adrien bowed his head, uttering a short prayer for the nameless man’s soul. 

Adrien glanced over his shoulder at Marin, who was still berating the trigger-happy red guard and looked to have no intention of stopping. Which meant the guard was also distracted. Adrien didn’t understand Paris politics yet, but it was clear that the Musketeers did not think well of the Cardinal’s personal guard and Adrien trusted Marin’s judgement--especially after complete incompetence he’d just seen. Adrien looked down at the body of the poor man in front of him and quietly asked for forgiveness before checking his pockets. 

The man had two pistols, extra powder and bullets, some string, small change and other odds and ends such as a person might carry. The only item of significant was a white butterfly, delicately constructed of cloth and finely embroidered, which was pinned to the inside of the man’s coat with a small straight pin. Adrien slipped the butterfly into his own pocket before standing up. 

Marin looked at him questioningly, still berating the red guard and Adrien realized with some shock that Marin’s fury had been at least in part to allow Adrien to search the body uninterrupted. Adrien nodded, and Marin’s string of cusses and epithets tapered off until he left the poor guard slumped against the wall with one last warning glare. “We should go report to the Commander. Let the Cardinal’s pet deal with the body. It is his after all.” 

Adrien followed Marin out of the alley and down the street. As soon as they were out of earshot he turned to Adrien. “You did search the body, right?” 

“Yes, I did.”

Marin sighed with relief. “Oh thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how to communicate with you but I’m glad you have good sense. It’s the usual tactic we use with the Cardinal’s guards when we need to sneak around them--one of us puts on being the stereotypical hot-headed Musketeer and is distracting enough to let the others around. Did you find anything?” 

Adrien pulled out the white butterfly. “Only this of interest. Odd little piece for a poor man to have on him. And before he died he told me ‘Hawkmoth’, though I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.” 

Marin hummed. “Well, it’s a start anyway. Perhaps the others will have found something more.” 

They reached the base of operations at the same time as Alain and Nino. Alya’s eyes widened at the disheveled state they both were in--Adrien still covered in blood, it smeared across his pants where he’d tried to wipe it off--and Marin dusty, his hair fanning out wildly. 

“Looks like you were in the thick of it, huh?” 

“You can say that again,” said Marin. “I’m never complaining about boring parades again.”

“Hell of a first day, huh Adrien?” said Nino. “You doing all right, bro?”

Adrien shrugged. How could he quantify all right? He’d just watched a man die--Adrien had seen deaths before, in the village, had sat with the sick and dying while his uncle served as doctor best he could--but never before had he seen someone die so suddenly and violently, right in his arms. Could he be all right, after something like that? Still, Adrien knew what it meant to be a fighting man, to be a Musketeer. Nothing could have shaken his lingering childhood romanticism like the events of the day. Maybe it would hit him harder later, when he was alone and had time to fall apart, but right now all Adrien wanted was to keep going, to pursue the case to its end. 

“Well enough,” he said. “How was your patrol?”

“Quiet until everyone started running!” Nino laughed. “Alain nearly got stampeded, I had to dive into the crowd and rescue him.”

Alain huffed. “I was  _ fine _ . I just stumbled a little, you hardly rescued me.”

“You tell yourself that, bro.”

The Commander walked towards them. “Marin, Adrien. It seems you have much of substance to report to me.”

Marin bowed. “Yes, Commander,” and detailed a precise accounting of what had occurred, only pausing for Adrien to fill in the details when Marin hadn’t been present. Fu listened stone-faced until Marin concluded the report, and nodded. 

“This is most concerning. If the King is being targeted we must be exceedingly careful until the true mastermind is found. Marin, I want you to take charge in pursuing this matter. I want this matter cleared up as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

As soon as they finally reached the barracks several hours later (after a good deal of additional debriefing and questioning and other things Adrien didn’t pay much attention to if they didn’t require him), Adrien shed his bloodied and torn clothing, bathing off the blood in the icy-cold water of the shared bathhouse, not caring to take the time to heat the water. The chill shook him out of his stupor some anyway, clearing his head. He badly wanted a nap, and a rather long one at that, and then maybe some food, but clean dry clothes were a very good start, even if they fit him rather poorly, being the castaways of other Musketeers.

He emerged into the bright sunlight of the training yard, and Marin immediately trotted over. 

“Are you sure you’re doing okay? That was a lot.” he said, carefully understated. 

“I’ll be okay. Fresh clothes helps.”

“I’m sure it does. That’s Nino’s shirt, be sure not to mess it up or he’ll complain something awful about his laundry bill.”

Adrien smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

Marin was still somewhat bedraggled and looked rather waifish in a soft, ethereal way. Adrien lingered on that thought for a moment before setting it firmly aside. 

“You should head home and rest, Adrien,” Marin said, sitting casually on a barrel next to them. “I’m sure you could use some sleep.”

This was true; Adrien could feel his exhaustion hovering, ready to descend. He opened his mouth to assent when Alain ran towards them, yelling. "We've just heard! There was another citizen assassin at the parade, but this one was captured by the red guards and is still alive. If we play it right, we should be able to talk to him, quietly--the commander's going to pull a few strings but we have to go now!"

Marin was on his feet immediately. "Where are they being held?"

"I'll take you just come on! Nino and the Commander will meet us there.” 

Adrien leapt up, running after the senior musketeers, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. They arrived at a red guard jail panting and out of breath--aside from Marin who's cheeks were merely pinked by the exercise. Where the man found his stamina Adrien couldn't guess but he was in far better shape than either Alain or himself.

Nino was outside waiting and he ushered them in. "The Commander's got to do some mad political maneuvering but he thinks he can get us at least a couple minutes to question the guy. The head guard here owes the Commander a favor."

Marin nodded. "Even a few minutes would help immensely."

"It's too bad the red guard is all corrupt sons of bitches. We ought to be sharing information freely, not begging for it," said Alain. 

"We all know the Cardinal's a threat but not much we can do about it bro. Not while he's still in favor with the King."

The Commander emerged from the office and nodded at them. "Five minutes. First cell on the right."

The five of them (Commander included) rushed toward the cell block, eager to begin questioning--with only five minutes there was no time for playing coy questioning games like Marin had told him they could use to subtly entreat a suspect to speak. They needed to be direct and hope they got answers.

Marin opened the door and was the first to look into the cell. He swore violently, punching the brick wall of the corridor. 

Adrien rounded the corner and stopped abruptly; there was a man in the cell but he was hanging, swaying gently from a bedsheet fastened to a crossbar on the ceiling. The picture was grotesque--there was no doubt of the man being dead. Adrien looked down at his boots, choking back the strong need to retch. 

"So much for answers," said Alain. 

Marin scowled. He walked over to the body, cutting the sheet down smoothly with his sword and catching the body to lay it on the ground. 

"He's been dead a couple hours at least,” said Nino, stooping over the body to examine it.

"Look at the neck bruising," said Alain. "Not just rope marks. He was strangled before he was hung."

Marin searched through the man’s clothes, pulling a white butterfly out of his pocket. "It looks identical to the other. Someone's behind all this, and they're covering up their tracks."

"This situation grows even more troublesome," said Commander Fu. 

Adrien frowned. The idea of someone using innocent Parisians to target the nobility--let alone the King himself--was troubling indeed. The first man had spoken of his family being threatened, which meant there was a family out there with no idea what had happened to him. He’d died without a name, no papers to identify him with, or indeed any personal effects. His family would likely never know the fate of their relation. 

“Do we know his name?” asked Adrien. “I assume the red guard questioned him themselves.”

“I will see what information I can still get,” said Commander Fu. “Although they are unlikely to be particularly helpful given these circumstances.”

“It’s not like we killed him,” said Alain. “I don’t know what we have to do with it.”

Nino shrugged. “First to the scene of the crime, bro. They ain’t gonna like that.”

Marin sighed. “I’d say pretend we weren’t here but I already cut him down.”

“That would be dishonest, Marin. Nino, go fetch Monsieur Jean.” said Commander Fu. “The rest of you are dismissed for now. I will handle this situation. Go home for now, we will debrief tomorrow morning.”

Adrien followed Alain and Marin out of the jail. “What now, do you think? We don’t have any other leads.”

“Wrong, my friend,” said Alain. “We have the butterflies. The embroidery is exquisite, isn’t it Marin? How many places do you reckon there are in Paris that could produce this fine of work?”

“Perhaps five. The combination of materials, stitching, embroidery and beadwork all mean they must have been made by one of Paris’s finest couture boutiques.”

“How do you know that?” asked Adrien.

Marin flinched, looking at Alain uneasily. “Oh you know...I picked it up here and there.”

Alain grinned and clapped Adrien on the back. “Can’t you tell? Our boy’s quite the dandy, very particular with his clothing. Washes it himself because the laundresses just don’t do it right!”

Marin huffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly true. I wash my own because the laundry closest to us is run by a stingy woman who charges a ridiculous fee.”

Adrien smiled. “Laundry was always my least favorite chore on the farm, I’d be happy to pay someone for it.”

“Not if you saw her prices!” said Marin. “At any rate, it’s too late in the day to go poking around boutiques, they’ll have closed by now. We can investigate more tomorrow but right now I’m famished.” 

“Come on, farm boy,” said Alain, “Let’s go eat.”

  
  


Adrien groaned into wakefulness, the sun cutting through his open window and sharply onto his face. He had a splitting headache which he seemed to recall was the result of being throughly and humiliatingly drunk under the table by Marin, who somehow packed away his drink hardily for someone as slender as he. Rolling into a standing position, Adrien was somewhat pleased to find himself already dressed--boots included--from the night before. He was certainly rumpled, but what did that matter to a Musketeer, so long as he avoided any meetings with his Father. 

He sat blearily through the morning briefing with Commander Fu, catching only a few words occasionally through the haze of his headache. 

“Adrien!” said the Commander. Adrien startled visibly, eyes which had been shut against the glare opening to see the Commander, Nino, Marin, and Alain all looking at him.

“Sir?” he tried. 

“Glad to see you are with us. Adrien, the King, forever may he reign, has in his wisdom decided to give you a commission in the King’s Musketeers for your part in the events of the parade and your dedication in protecting his Majesty’s person. You are now, officially, a King’s Musketeer,” he said, passing Adrien a bundle. 

Nino clapped awkwardly. “Congrats, bro! You’re officially one of us, now.”

“Is that the fastest time from trainee to full-commission ever? I mean it’s been what, a week, right?” said Alain. 

Marin smiled. “Congratulations, Adrien”

Adrien sat, blank-faced, shocked. He unfolded the bundle to find a proper Musketeer cloak--blue, with silver embroidery. Adrien met the eyes of the Commander, who nodded. 

“Congratulations, my boy. Maybe now you can pay attention properly, eh?” As stern as the Commander looked his eyes twinkled. “Dismissed, you four.”

Despite the troubling Hawkmoth mystery hanging over their heads, the four spent the morning training at Marin’s insistence, who decided that Adrien needed practice in order to integrate his skills more firmly with the three of them--not to mention his truly regretful aim with a musket. Adrien had been well-schooled in swordsmanship, but his target practice was sorely neglected. 

When they finally broke for dinner Adrien was sweaty and exhausted, his hair hanging limp against his forehead. Marin was a brilliant leader, but he gave no mercy to poor farm boys trying their best.

Not that Adrien wanted easy treatment. He had come to Paris to become a Musketeer, and if this was the kind of training they did regularly all the better to get him up to muster as quickly as possible. 

“Hey, man!” said Nino. “You all right there?”

Adrien grinned, panting. “Just fine!”

“A’ight, if you say so, bro. I’m gonna go find some grub, you want to join?”

“That sounds great!”

“Cool. Soon’s you catch your breath.”

Adrien crinkled his nose. “I’m good.”

“Then you won’t mind running then, huh?”

Inadvertently, Adrien’s eyes widened and Nino laughed.

“I’m kidding, bruh. I sure as hell ain’t up for it after Marin’s put us through our paces. 

They ended up grabbing food from a market stall not far from the barracks. Nino was friends with the owner, and they chatted amiably about things and people Adrien was unfamiliar with before he ordered--both for himself and Adrien, and paid for them before Adrien could stop him. 

“So man, what’re you gonna do with that newfound salary?”

“Send it back home, I guess,” Adrien shrugged. “And find a better place to live.” 

“Where are you at now?”

Adrien told him, and Nino visibly cringed. “Bro. That’s not..the worst. But you definitely need a new place stat. I can’t let a friend of mine squander in filth like that.”

“Do you know of any place? I’m not exactly familiar with the city yet.”

“Yeah, hey actually a room in my boarding house just opened up. You’ll love my landlady, she’s super chill. She’ll get a kick out of how polite you are after putting up with me the last few years. We’re not far from it now, let’s go talk to her.”

“Now?”

“Yeah man! Can’t let you sleep in that shithole another night, it’d just be wrong.” Nino changed directions abruptly, spinning on his heel with Adrien blindly following. 

By the time they made it back to the barracks, (three minutes late), everything was settled and Adrien had moved his few possessions to his new room. 

“Have a good lunch?” asked Alain.

“Yeah man, we got Adrien out of the shithole he was living in, he’s in my building now!” said Nino. 

“In  _ your _ building? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Nino?” Alain’s tone was abruptly frosty, though Adrien wasn’t sure why. 

Nino quavered under Alain’s glare. “Yes?”

“Really? You didn’t think about how, oh, it might make things more difficult for us?” 

Nino grimaced. “Adrien’s chill, it’ll be fine, Al.”

Adrien was clearly missing some part of the conversation; he had no clue why it would matter to Alain where Adrien lived but Alain was clearly unhappy for some reason. He opened his mouth to reassure Alain that--well, he wasn’t even sure what he needed to reassure about, but before he could speak Marin placed his hand on Adrien’s arm and subtly shook his head. Adrien closed his mouth, and Marin drew him away from Alain and Nino’s increasingly heated conversation. 

“You don’t want to get between those two when they’re going at it, trust me. Nino made a mistake, he can deal with Alain’s wrath.”

“I didn’t mean to be a problem,” said Adrien. “I can find somewhere else to live, I’m just not sure why--”

“It’s not your fault,” Marin cut him off. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Alain will figure it out.” 

Adrien nodded. “I just hate to be a bother, I’m so new here I don’t want to stir anything up.”

“I said don’t worry about it, didn’t I? Come on, you’re with me this afternoon. We’re going to hit some of the couture shops and see what information we can get about these butterflies.” 

“How do we--I mean, we can’t just go in and ask if they made the butterflies, right?”

Marin laughed. “Oh goodness, no. At this point we don’t know if the person behind all this is someone directly involved in couture clothing, or if one of the boutiques was only commissioned for the butterflies under guise of something else and is completely innocent and in the dark. But we certainly can’t give away that we’re investigating. Our cover story will be that the Musketeers are looking to commission new cloaks and were dissatisfied with the embroidery on the last ones, so we’re looking for a new shop to make them. That’ll ingratiate us to most of them just because they’ll be so pleased to have anything over Agreste.”

Adrien froze. “Agreste?” 

“Yeah, he’s the best tailor in the city. Kind of an ass though--hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.” 

Marin raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Clearly not. Are you coming down with something? If you’re sick you should be in bed.” 

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“Look, I know you feel like you have something to prove since you’re the newbie but trust me, it's better to take the time now than push yourself until you drop.”

“I’m not sick,” Adrien snapped.

Marin’s eyes widened. “Oh--okay.”

“Wait--no, I’m sorry, Marin.” Adrien sighed. “I shouldn’t have--it’s just. Well, Gabriel Agreste is my father.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh--oh god, I’m so sorry I called your father an ass, I--”

“No, don’t be, it’s fine I promise. He is, kind of.” 

Marin looked concerned. “Do you want to let Alain and Nino do his boutique? We don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No, that’s okay,” said Adrien. “I-I can handle him this time.” How was Marin so instantly sweet and understanding? And after Adrien had been so rude with no cause. 

Marin nodded. “Very well then. Let’s go start with Bustier’s. She’s an easy mark, it’ll let you figure out how this game works before we have to deal with some of the more intimidating ones.” 

The way the game worked was this: Marin and Adrien would enter the boutique, posing as potential clients looking to order Musketeer cloaks for Commander Fu. Fu never entered a fashion boutique himself if he could help it, so this was perfectly reasonable--especially since Adrien had only just received his commission. Then, while Adrien distracted the shop owner and any assisstants by asking many, many stupid questions and generally being a nuisance, Marin was free to delicately poke around the shop and look for any signs of the butterflies or materials from their making. 

They’d tried the other way around--with Marin talking and Adrien searching--but Adrien knew so little about fabrics as to be useless. Marin had an immense knowledge of fabrics, and weaves, and specific types of beading and embroidery and all manner of topics Adrien was clueless about. When Adrien asked how he knew so much, Marin merely responded, “Oh, you can’t be a dandy without knowing your fabrics,” which made little sense--Marin was well dressed but hardly a dandy. Still, Adrien let it be. He could respect that Marin might be a little embarrassed by his deep interest in fashion. And Adrien turned out to be better at charming and distracting the shop employees than either of them had expected--he adopted a whole different persona in an instant, suddenly confident and bold and charming, if given to making rather too many puns. 

They made it through the first few boutiques more swiftly than Marin had expected--he was pleased with their progress, even if they hadn’t found any sign of the butterflies. 

“We make a good team, huh Adrien?”

Adrien grinned, pleased. “I’m glad I met you.” 

Marin flushed. “I-oh. Me too. Even if I thought you were a spy at first.”

“Where to next?” 

“Hmm.” Marin tapped his chin thoughtfully and it was all Adrien could manage not to squeal at the cuteness of the action. “Well, Agreste’s is closest so it would make sense to go there next. But we could go to Flora’s next if you’d rather.” 

“No, it’s fine, we can go to my father’s. I can handle him now, I think. At least I have some success to report to him, maybe he’ll be pleased. I don’t think I can distract him for long though, not like with the others.”

Marin nodded. “Agreste is certainly all about business. It’s fine, I can work with what I get.”

“Then let’s go.”

They stood outside his father’s shop and Adrien braced himself. He was a Musketeer now--he had gained his commission in record time. He was dressed neatly--not perhaps in the most fashionable garb, but nothing out of date at least. He’d earned his place in the Musketeers though his sword and skill, had stopped a threat on the King’s life. He could face his father and get Marin the time he needed to search for evidence of the butterflies. 

The same shopboy was there as before. “Hello,” said Adrien. “I would like to speak to Monsieur Agreste.” 

“Monsieur is very busy, I’m afraid, perhaps you could leave a card--”

“Tell him it’s his son,” Adrien said firmly. 

The shopboy did a doubletake, clearly not recognizing him from the last time Adrien had come into the shop bedraggled and travel-stained. He bowed shortly. “Of course, sir.”

Gabriel emerged from the back, irritable. “I distinctly remember telling you not to come here again.”

“Yes, Father. I am, however, here on Musketeer business with my fellow, Marin.” 

Marin bowed. 

“Yes,” said Gabriel. “I remember Marin from the last time you Musketeers were in the shop. Tolerable eye for clothing given his origin. If Fu sent you thinking I would give a deal to my son he is a bigger fool than I thought.”

“No, Father. I am only here to conduct business.” 

“Very well. We are out of the fabric used in the last order, but something suitable for the needs of the” Gabriel sniffed. “King’s Musketeers can be found.”

As Adrien conversed with Gabriel--insisting on looking at every fabric and thread he could justify--Marin slipped around the shop, looking at fabrics and examining the beadwork on the dresses displayed. Adrien made sure to involve him in the conversation now and again, to justify his presence, and when the shopboy came out of the back awkwardly carrying several rolls of fabric, Marin masterfully engineered a collision, and then tripped on the rolls landing heavily on the floor. 

“I’m so sorry, Monsieur, I can be such a klutz,” he said. “Here, let me---” Marin began to stand, placing weight on his hand and immediately hissing in pain. He swore. “Of all the dumb ways for me to--I’m sorry to ask, Monsieur, but I seem to have injured my wrist. Do you have a scrap of fabric I can wrap it with?” 

Gabriel nodded once. “Of course. Louis, take Mr. Dupain-Cheng and sort this out.” 

Marin and Louis disappeared into the back room, and Adrien was left alone with his father. “I must say, Adrien, your knowledge of fabrics is truly pathetic. It shames me that my own son is so ignorant of the family business.”

Two weeks ago Adrien would have never thought to challenge his father, but now things were different. “It is difficult to learn of fine fabrics while living on a farm removed from such things,” he said. “If you thought it necessary for me to know of such things you should ensured that I was taught.” 

Gabriel’s lips narrowed. “Leaving your education to that fool Plagg was clearly a mistake.” 

“Uncle Plagg has been the best part of my life. We’ll take the sky blue wool twill--not the melton--with this trim and embroidery in the third silver thread. When shall I tell Commander Fu to expect delivery?” Adrien might not be as knowledgeable as Marin was about fabric, but he’d picked up more over the last several hours than he’d been letting on. 

Gabriel said nothing, but wrote out a receipt and handed it to Adrien. “I should have known the Musketeers would do nothing to help your coarse manners. Natalie!” he called. 

A well dressed woman appeared. “Yes, sir?” 

“Send a bill to Commander Fu for this amount. When Mr. Dupain-Cheng is done bandaging himself, escort him and my son out.”

After they tackled the final boutique, Marin treated Adrien to supper--to celebrate their hard work, he said, even if they hadn’t found anything conclusive. 

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” 

Adrien shook his head. “No, go ahead.”

“You and your dad--I mean, you showed up as such a farm boy, and meanwhile your father is like, at the very center of fancy rich parisians. You don’t--I mean, you absolutely do not have to tell me, I shouldn’t even be asking I’m so sorry--”

“No, it’s fine,” said Adrien. “It’s not some big secret or anything. My mother died when I was young and I was sent to live with her family on their farm. My Uncle Plagg--technically we aren’t related by blood, but he raised me. I only met my father twice since I was five until this last few weeks.”

“I can’t imagine. Did you like it, on the farm?”

Adrien grinned, his whole face lighting up. “Yes, very much so! I mean, I was eager to come to Paris and have my own adventures after all the wild stories Plagg told me over the years, but I love the farm too. My father always hated it when he visited, complained about the smell or the size of the rooms. But it was perfect to me.” 

Marin smiled. “It sounds lovely. Plagg’s the one who taught you fight, huh?”

“Yes! He was such a crotchety teacher, always wanted to be off in his cheese-shed instead, but I’d pester him out until he taught me, and when he does something he does it right, even if he’s complaining the whole time. So I learned all that I could.” 

“My teacher was very different. She’s a very gentle person until I didn’t want to do something, and then she could be so stubborn! But I learned so much from her.”

“You teacher was a woman?” Adrien asked. “I don’t know any women who can use a sword. There were none in my village, anyway.”

A shadow passed over Marin’s eyes, but he smiled. “Yes, Tikki’s a marvelous swordswoman. Without her I would still be using sticks in my backyard.”

“To our teachers, then?” 

“To our teachers.”

Adrien collapsed into his bed, sighing wistfully. It was late--or early, really. Marin and him had talked for hours, swapping stories of their struggles learning swordsmanship, discussing their pasts, their dreams for the future, the trouble with Hawkmoth, and all manner of things until the barman had finally kicked them out, only slightly tipsy for all the time they’d spent there. Marin was--well, Marin was extraordinary. Adrien had already known that, had witnessed first hand just how good he was with a sword, how clever and brave he was. But he was kind, too, in a way that made Adrien’s heart quicken every time those piercing blue eyes met his own. Adrien wasn’t ignorant of his attraction. His uncle was a confirmed bachelor, something their home village was aware of but carefully ignored--and so when Adrien became aware of his bisexuality a few years ago it was not as difficult for him as it might have been otherwise. But Adrien heard the stories, heard how people talked, and knew well enough to keep his own feelings secret. Easy enough, anyway, when he was too busy pursuing the blade to be much interested in--well, other types of swords. 

But Marin was different than any of the young men or women in Adrien’s village. Beautiful--prettier than any man or woman had right to be, with his soft dark hair that curled about his ears, his big blue eyes, gently freckled skin, and misleading delicacy. For all his slim wrists and delicate collarbones, Marin was strong, and fierce, with a confidence that dared any other to challenge him. It was no mystery why the man was one of the best Musketeers. And after the last day, Adrien couldn’t deny the strength of his feeling for the other man. Feelings he would never be able to acknowledge. Marin was straight, definitively--had flirted with the women in the boutiques they’d visited earlier and again with the barmaid that evening with panache and skill Adrien had no choice but to admire. And even if things had been otherwise, they were Musketeers. If Adrien revealed himself Marin’s duty would be to inform Commander Fu and have Adrien removed from the Musketeers immediately. Such an outcome would be unbearable. The Musketeers meant everything to Adrien--surely he could handle a little crush for the sake of his profession and continued friendship with Marin. That was more important than anything. 

Still, as he drifted off to sleep, Adrien couldn’t help but dream of Marin’s smile and dark blue eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Musketeers didn't get paid, they actually paid for the privilege of being one. I told ya I'm mostly ignoring history, right? This chapter turned out SO MUCH LONGER than I expected. I can't believe I'm only 3 chapters in and over 10k, my longest fic in the past was only 16k so I'm a little freaked haha. That's OK though because I have a PLOT and a PLAN.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I have a few chapters written already and a whole big spreadsheet of plot stuff so hopefully I can get this written up reasonably quick now that I've buckled down to it. Gen for now, but might push it to Teen depending on how intense future chapters shake out.


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